Reproduced with Permission of
Will James Art Company
Here are just a few special poems and songs I have found about
cowgirls and barrel racers that I thought you might enjoy. The
old poems are quoted from the books referenced. Please see the Cowgirl's Dream Bookshop for further
bibliographical information and lots of books about cowgirls.
Index
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By Ian Tyson,
"All the Good'Uns," 1996
![[Barrel Racer]](images/gs96barrel.jpg)
In the Arizona sunlight
In the Colorado moonlight
When she gets there, gonna feel alright
Now she's feelin so tired...
She got her big bay horse,
One she calls the Rollin Sun
The hard-running faithful one,
Out in front of all the rest.
She's a barrel racing angel
Out there somewhere in the west.
Well I wish you could have seen them
At the short go in Cheyenne,
Ol' Sun he's rollin like a thunderstorm
Fast as lightning on the plains.
Now they're tired and sore
But they gotta go some more.
On the road to Las Vegas
There is no place to rest.
She's a barrel racing angel
Out there somewhere in the west.
Cowgirls are special when they follow their dreams.
Every race is a brand new start.
Some are running for the sake of running.
Some are running from a broken heart.
Just one thing you got to know
You can't hold her, you gotta let her go
You can't catch a silhouette
She's like ice; She's like fire.
They're gonna fly as one
She and Rollin Sun
Out among the stars
Ahead of all the rest
She's a barrel racing angel
Out there somewhere in the west.
She's a barrel racing angel
Out there somewhere in the west.
S. LaPrade Riddell, Pointed Star Music
(recorded by Chris LeDoux)
- On a cold Montana morning
- On the road to Idaho
- I watched her order hot and black to go.
- Don her boots and spurs and bluejeans
- And the lonely in her eyes
- Told me just how much she loved the rodeos.
-
- I asked where she was headin',
- She said, the Boise show.
- She took a third in Butte just yesterday.
- No, she never has been married,
- And she probably never will,
- 'Cause silver buckle dreams
- Don't leave time for standing still.
- CHORUS:
- Round and Round and Round she goes
- Where she stops nobody knows.
- The miles are gettin' longer,
- And the nights they never end.
- Old rodeos and livestock shows
- Keep the lady on the go.
- Lord, she loves to run those barrels,
- And it's the only life she knows.
- For nigh on fifteen seasons
- The circuit's been her home,
- And at times she misses kids she never had.
- But she wouldn't trade a minute
- Of the years that she's got in it,
- 'Cause she's had herself some happy,
- And she's learned to take the sad.
- When I looked up from my coffee
- I saw Boise on her mind,
- And she had that look of leavin' in her eyes.
- As she drove into the morning
- It slowly dawned on me
- How hard it is to tell a dream goodbye
- (You just can't tell a life-long dream good-bye).
Cowgirls - Women of the American West, p.249.
By N. Howard Thorp
Where the Pecos River winds and turns in its
journey to the sea,
From its white walls of sand and rock striving ever to be free,
Near the highest railroad bridge that all these modern times have
seen
Dwells fair young Patty Moorhead, the Pecos River Queen.
She's known by all the cowboys on the Pecos
River wide;
They know full well that she can shoot, that she can rope and
ride;
She goes to every round-up, every cow-work without fail,
Looking out for all her cattle branded "walking hog on a
rail."
She made her start in cattle, yes, made it
with her rope;
Can tie down e'ry maverick 'fore it can strike a lope;
She can rope and tie and brand it as quick as any man;
She's voted by all owboys an A-1 top cow-hand.
Across the Comstock railroad bridge, the
highest in the West,
Patty rode her horse one day a lover's heart to test;
For he told he he would gladly risk all dangers for her sake,
But the puncher wouldn't follow, so she's still without a mate.
Songs of the Cowboys, p.126
- Oh, music springs under the galloping
hoofs,
- Out on the plains;
- Where mile after mile drops behind with
a smile,
- And to-morrow seems always to tempt and
beguile, --
- Out on the plains.
- Oh, where are the traces of yesterday's
ride?
- There to the north;
- Where alfalfa and sage sign themselves
into sleep,
- Where the buttes loom up suddlenly,
startling and steep, --
- There to the north.
- Oh, rest not my pony, there's youth in
my heart,
- Out on the plains;
- And the wind sings a wild song to rob
me of care,
- And there's room here to live and to
love and to dare, --
- Out on the plains.
Songs of the Cowboys, p.129 - N. Howard
Thorp "heard this sung by a cow-girl at Cheyenne Round-up --
a Miss Windsor."
By N. Howard Thorp
Daddy come from Brownsville,
En Maw from San Antone;
We come here in a wagon
That ud rock en squeak en groan;
We brought our stock en horses;
The Boys come on afore;
En Dad was playin' all the way
"Old Turkey in the Straw"!
There's me en Sister Annie,
En Tom, en Si, en Budd;
We all was raised with cattle,
So I guess it's in our blood;
En I shore love the dances --
Folks say I take after Maw --
When Dad takes down his fiddle
En plays "Turkey in the Straw"!
We ain't jest much on stylish,
But we got a good Home Ranch,
En the little old horse-pasture
Runs clear down to the branch.
En we're all plumb contented
Since Dad put hinges on the door,
En with his old brown fiddle
Plays "Turkey in the Straw"!
I got er pair er shop-made boots
That Dad had made fer me,
Er pair er silver-mounted spurs
Es pretty as can be;
We ride ter all the dances,
En when I get on the floor,
I'm sure to hear Dad playin'
"Old Turkey in the Straw"!
I've got a young cow-puncher roped,
I've got 'im on my string,
En everthing is lovely,
We'll be married in the spring;
Es we ain't much on religion,
We'll be married by the Law,
En I kin hear Dad playin'
"Old Turkey in the Straw"!
Songs of the Cowboys, p.94.
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